Why do you struggle, little girl?
"Stop it."
Weak.
"Stop it."
For how longer will you beg to silence a voice stronger than you?
A low howl, as if produced by one's imagination, echoed in the room. The darkness had spread its clutches everywhere in the wide chamber, so thick that it was nearly tangible. Behind the veil, black vines were reaching everywhere in the room; the floor, the walls were one with them. In spite of their ill appearance, the grey skin that they were shedding, they appeared to have no end. Without a shadow of doubt, the table in the middle, collecting damp mud, was the source. They were coiling around the pylons of the bed, creeping under it, leaving no part without the peculiar taint. There was no telling to what had caused this overgrowth at first sight, though one could easily note that the thorns of the vines, taking the colour of coal, were not curving to succumb to the withering. They remained firm, as if they sought to desperately prick flesh, as if they desired the taste of blood.
Only a thin line of silver light could make its way into the chamber, as the drapes of a window left an opening, a view to the largest of Azeroth's two moons. For the Orcs, it was the Pale Lady, for the Kaldorei, it was Elune, their goddess and protector, but for the troubled souls, it was nothing but a lantern into the shadow of the witching hour. There was peculiar purity in the illuminant line, making one's skin glow, hiding the flows. The paler, the better.
The sight it offered was limited; a thick vine in front of dark furniture, unimportant, lost somewhere in the background. The greying vine in itself was barely visible, for the shape of a slender woman stood out more than anything else. She was kneeling, leaning above the floor, while the drape of snowy locks gently caressed the floor. The yellow of her bruises was barely present, as if the lunar rays wished to conceal the torment of not long ago. Heavy breaths were shaking her frail form, as if obeying to an inaudible drum beat, or even better, seeking a way to break the deafening silence.
The fondness which the apprentice held for her locket had, at that moment, faded away. The remarkable work of jewelcrafting was disgarded on the floor, the chain coiled and tangled, lost somewhere into the shadows. Thinner vines, not fleshy, but metallic, not thorny, but smooth, adorned with small leaves, were embracing the sizeable container. For one, they were nothing but the creator's artistic touch, but the caressing touch of the moon that brought awareness revealed the truth: they were the keepers on a beautiful prison, the restraints of a passive prisoner that could never be contained. However, the locket was not alone on the cold floor. The celestial beam revealed more. Not one, but two more crystals were around the silver jewel. One perfectly circular, dull, unwilling to so easily reveal its secrets. The other crystal stood out more clearly, for its verdant colour was more dominant, brighter, even if its shape resermbled a shard. Its size was not smaller than that of the other two items. At a first glance, that was the pattern they all shared, one of size. Two more were present, yet ever so elusive.
As her hand fell on her knee, barely distinguishable from the white sleeping gown, the way her fingers were spread betrayed a torn option between the three items. Even if her eyes always tried to flee to the locket, the brightness of the neon green shard was stronger. Slowly, the girl's hand rose, hovering above sphere, locket and crystal. Her fingers dancing to the eerie tune of an inaudible melody, that of temptation, desire. Each choice bore an invisible wall, hinderance for reaching out. Each choice was a breath away, but to make it stopped one's heartbeat. Each choice was impossible, for one desired all.
Go on then.
Her fist closed, her lips leaving a hiss into the silence of the dead chamber.
"I know what you're trying to do."
For how much longer will you resist?
Celysiel tried to pull her hand back, but it would not move. Her heartbeat became rapid, endless pounding in her chest. Pain. Another hiss, but she did not falter. The scent of rot was sweet into her nostrils, immersing her into decay. There was no sign of how the room used to be. There would soon be no sign of what the girl used to be.
Another dance brought her wrist to spin and descend as her fingers were lifting, only seeking to delay the inevitable. Under the silver light, they finally became one with the glassy surface of the shard. Cold, without gloves seperating skin and power any longer. It gave her complexion an ill glow of green that even the lunar rays could not neutralize, for the miasma of wrong might could never be erased. Pain, for once more. It was like a sting in the chest. An awful sensation, accompanied by warmth, as if warm water was welling up inside her like the sweetest comfort. The tips of her digits tingled, aware of the promise so close.
It can be yours. If only you will succumb...
"No."
It was like her flesh had been zapped by electricity. Her fingers, however, though retreating, did not abandon the items completely. They were still closer to them than herself. For once more, the locket was met with ignorance as the tender caress fell to the sphere to its other side. This she took to her hand more freely than the shard, even if the residue of the verdant crystal's power still danced at the end of her fingers. The object, now firmly residing to her palm, was lifted, brought to the level of her eyes. The dull veil would not allow the elf to peek within, yet she could feel it. Swirling, ever so familiar. Not so different from when she was holding Domynn's stone, or when Summoner Ashbourne had instructed her to trap his imp's soul.
Someone was in there.
But who?
You know you cannot avoid it, little girl. You know it is futile to resist.
Her fingers calmly let the sphere slide back onto the floor, by the thick vine extending next to her, only to lock her burning eyes onto the silver locket.
"I know."
There was hesitation in the girl's gesture as she reached out for the item, but unlike with the shard, she did not stop to reconsider, nor ever pulled back. The end of her fingers first found the frozen chain, trailing down to the large object hanging from it. She could feel the cut of the ornamenting vines around the polished prison, the smoothness of the metal. And something below. Something strong. Like a beat, steady. But no, because it was not like a beat at all. It was like welling up power, whispering, but never speaking, stirring, but never moving. Agitating, but so soothing.
She hated it. She loved it. She despised it. She yearned for it.
One step...
"... No..."
One reach...
"No, no."
So close...
The tranquility of the celestial light was broken by the flash of rush as Celysiel pulled back, the locket trapped around closing fingers, pulling it to her chest. Soon enough, she was one with the black of the obscure chamber.
Give in.
Do it.
You cannot resist what you desire.
Do it.
Banging, hollow, as if the steps of a defector in an endless hallway broke the silence. Like suffering serpents, the dead vines spreading in the chamber began to shiver, as if they were stirred from their sleep of withering and ineptitude. As if they were responding to the crosstalk. As if they were causing it.
Blind.
Worthless.
Ever so fearful.
"No!"
A burst of green light gave light to the shadow. To a room suffocated by rotting vines that left cracks on the walls, that sought to climb on every surface, cover the emptiness they found. Fester. Chartreuse cindets sprang from the greying bark, but the destructive fire never came to life. Only motes of it remained, remnants of an anguished to the other voice.
For the other voice was her own.
A thick veil was pulled over the glimpse of the moon, delivering the chamber to umbral mist. The promise of fleeting sanity. Absolute oblivion.
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